


Everything and Nothing.

by thepencilnerd



Series: Unsailed Harry Potter ships [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Lives, BAMF Hermione Granger, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Creature Fic, Dark, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Espionage, F/M, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romance, Self-Harm, Severus Snape Lives, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Violence, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29877360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepencilnerd/pseuds/thepencilnerd
Summary: Finally, it hits her.Deep violet blooms, varied color range. Ten oblong petals, depending on species. Poisonous roots and flowers. Palmated leaves with thin green stems. Aconitum.That same metallic fragrance nipped at her nostrils once more and was stronger than ever.A deadly concoction of her ripe blood and wolfsbane.The war was won but their battle was far from over. Werewolf Draco Malfoy / Post-Second Wizarding War
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Unsailed Harry Potter ships [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100987
Comments: 14
Kudos: 62





	Everything and Nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing werewolf!DM/HG, please be kind :)

Hermione landed on her heels with a crunch. Her arrival is anything but graceful seeing as a sharp branch decided to bite into her left shoulder seconds before her feet met the ground. A foreboding welcome, if you will. At precisely 12 past midnight, Hermione Granger found herself in the thick of the Forbidden Forest, equipped with nothing but a charmed pouch, silver medallion, and wand. They owed her big time for this. She shrugged at the junction where her collarbone met her shoulder and ignored the dull throbbing radiating from the cut. Never mind a flesh wound. There were much more important matters at hand. 

“ _Lumos minima._ ” The spell came out in a murmur. As if she’d give away her location and get herself killed by a simple incantation, she thought. Her breath swirled amongst the frigid air with each soft exhale. The forest was uninviting at the best of times. Winter nightfall made it all the more unbearable. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why—more importantly— _who_ , was mental enough to request a meeting here, at this time of day, and as urgently as possible. And on a school night! 

In an effort to pass time, her mind drifted back to Dumbledore’s words from earlier. Five minutes ago, she’d stood in the warmth of his office in her nighties, hair disheveled from being shoved off of her bed during a very good dream. She had Ginny to thank for that. 

“It’s Harry.” At this, Hermione snapped fully awake from her sluggish daze. Ginny’s eyes were red and stretched with worry. “His patronus came and asked for you. Headmaster’s office. Now.” 

Not bothering to slip on a robe, she slid on a pair of slippers and sped through the corridors until reaching the prominent archway. A hurried muttering of the words “Egg tarts” earned her a bow from the gargoyle as she was whisked upwards. Hermione was surprised to see that Professor—no. Snape and McGonagall, she corrected herself, were present as well. Their arms were crossed impassively but their knitted brows gave them away. Fear. Apprehension. In all honesty, it was an odd spectacle seeing professors in pyjamas. Other than Professor Slughorn, of course. Harry and Ron stood up from the couch as soon as they met her eyes. Running over to them, they brought her into a crushing hug. 

If her peripheral vision served her correctly, she could’ve sworn Snape rolled his eyes and suppressed a gag. 

“Miss Granger,” a hearty voice bellowed. “I apologize for summoning you at this late hour but it was a matter most urgent.” Of course, he was the only of the six still in his dress robes. Did the wizard ever sleep? 

Pursing her lips, she gave a curt nod and waited for him to continue. 

Dumbledore spoke with calculated precision. “Minutes ago, I received word from our informant requesting your presence at the Forbidden Forest immediately.” Harry and Ron shuffled from behind her while McGonagall and Snape’s shoulders seemed to slacken. Had Dumbledore waited until her arrival to deliver the news?

McGonagall was the first to speak. “If I may, Albus, surely you cannot comply with this person’s request?” The same emotions that laced Ginny’s voice were in her mentor’s. Unequivocal dread. “We’ve yet to meet this so-called ‘anonymous benefactor,’ much less verify that his intentions are indeed genuine. Why would he ask for Miss Granger specifically?” 

“Sir, you can’t honestly be considering sending Hermione out there in the dead of night to meet some stranger?” Ron did no better in trying to hide his concern. “For all we know, it could be a trap.” 

Snape remained stoic. His face remained frozen in an impenetrable contemplative expression he wore as a mask. Hermione always wondered whether it was for his protection or for the sake of others. 

Harry’s face tensed. “I’m sorry sir, but we can’t risk Hermione’s life for information we don’t even know to be of value. I’ll go—” 

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room grew quiet. 

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I can assure you with the utmost of certainty that our informant will bring no harm to Miss Granger,” he spoke with ease. “I have prepared an emergency portkey in the unlikely event that things get out of hand. He has already made it very clear that if not Miss Granger, the agreement will be called off.”

So it _was_ a he. 

Throughout this exchange, Hermione was silently processing the information laid out in front of her. Trust Dumbledore, meet the spy, retrieve the report, and come back alive. Trust Dumbledore, meet the spy, retrieve or fail to retrieve the report, and be discovered the morning after as nothing more than a frozen corpse. 

Gryffindor bravery be damned. 

“I’ll go.” Her voice resounded in the chamber with more gusto than she’d care to admit. 

Before her friends could protest, she gave them a scolding glare. Their eyes swelled into saucers from her silent threat. If anyone was likely to make it out of this ordeal alive, it was Hermione Granger. “You two know I’m not just book smart, right? I can hold up my end in a duel. If not long enough to win, at least long enough to use the portkey.” 

She saw Snape raise his brow and the corner of his lip twitched. Maybe it was her brain playing tricks on her to try and make light of the situation. Humans always found the strangest ways to cope. 

“I can use Harry’s cloak and go with her, just in case—” Ron tried arguing but was cut off by another voice. 

“Will she really be safe?” Harry asked. The shadows beneath his eyes made the greens of his irises pop out even more. If looks could pierce, Dumbledore would be nothing more than another portrait on the wall right now. 

Looking solemnly at the boy, Dumbledore directed his focus to the young witch that stood before him. The former Headmaster took Hermione’s hands into his and placed a wad of fabric in her palm. His grip clasped her fingers around the cloth, giving them a tight squeeze. “I give you my word.” 

Trust.

Loyalty.

Courage.

Perseverance.

Sacrifice.

It was all anyone could hold onto in times of war. 

A biting gust of air grazed her face and brought her back to the present. Tingles spread over her bare flesh. Whether it was out of desperation or annoyance, she couldn’t tell. Exactly forty-eight seconds passed before the crack of apparition sounded from up ahead. A moderate distance judging by the dull crunch of dead foliage and snapping twigs. Her body tensed up. The floodgates of fear burst open and adrenaline coursed through her veins. Keeping her wand at the ready, she hid behind a broad tree trunk and tried to locate the source of the sound. 

Suddenly, the sound of a low voice clicked their tongue in distaste. It was far enough that the tree branches offered enough cover to cast a spell if she needed it. 

“I thought you’d be smarter than that.”

Familiar. 

Too familiar. 

The voice sounded deeper than the last time she’d heard it. 

It could be polyjuice. 

He seemed to read her mind like an open book. “And before you go about spewing potions nonsense, you should know better than anyone how difficult it is for a thirteen-year-old girl to fracture both nasal bones.” 

Fucking hell. The only people who knew that were Madam Pomfrey, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the Weasleys. That story was already a cult classic at the yearly Christmas dinners. 

Stepping out from the makeshift bunker, the glint of white was distinct, even in the pitch-black darkness of twilight. 

Hermione cast a silent ‘ _Expelliarmus’_ at the hardly visible figure without so much as a second thought. Her hand caught the smooth Hawthorn wand and its magic thrummed beneath her fingertips. Although it hummed at her touch, she could tell it hadn’t yielded to fully. Strange, she thought. She slid the wand into her ankle boot and moved it so it wouldn’t prod her calf. 

He broke the silence with something akin to an impressed scoff. “There’s that Gryffindor fire. Finally mastered non-verbals, have we?” 

Standing no less than two meters in front of Hermione was none other than the pristine prat of a Slytherin prince himself.

It was times like these where she resented being right most of the time. 

Draco Malfoy. 

Moonlight bled through the clouds and glossed over him, just enough to make out the white of his hair. From what she could tell, he donned a black suit. Typical pureblood. They really had the nerve to berate Muggle fashion when they were dressed like the leather bindings of archaic books. She couldn’t make out his face but she imagined the cocky grin that courted his features. 

The sound of leaves from under him had yet to cease but stayed the same in volume. He maintained his distance. Pacing? 

“Snag yourself on a shrub, did you, Granger?” Despite doubting his ability to see this well in the unlit stretch of the forest, Hermione’s hand came up instinctively to clutch her shoulder. The clouds shifted in the sky and allowed a streak of light to illuminate her from where Malfoy was standing. Perfect timing. The shredded fabric must have been a dead giveaway. Shame. She quite liked this jumper. 

Keeping her eyes glued on the obscure frame standing across the forest, she steadied her wand and held it tighter. Worst case scenario, she reminded herself, she’d use the portkey. She knew disarming him had been a good idea. Hopefully, she hadn’t just jinxed herself by presuming that. 

The sky shifted again. Malfoy took a step forward where it was moonlit. His hands were raised in surrender and he spun around slowly to bare his back. He stuck out his arms and shook them wildly before jumping up and down. On any other occasion, Hermione would’ve commented that he resembled a deranged chicken. Turning back to face her, he shrugged. “No spare wand or anything. Satisfied?” 

When Hermione’s gaze reached Draco’s, her breath hitched in her throat. Her hands flew up to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape. 

Even though it was dark and he was a meter away, the gashes carved into his face were fully exposed. 

His face. 

His eye. 

Three thick scars ran across the breadth of his right temple, over his eye, and diagonally towards the edge of his nostril. A fourth one swooped along the hollow of his cheek but stopped just short of his mouth.

Slashes.

Claw marks.

Undeniably werewolf.

His left eye was a paler shade of grey than his right and amplified his already intimidating demeanor. 

The once immaculate face of a pureblood heir was reduced to this. 

A half-blood.

_“Filthy half-breed,” Bellatrix would likely say. Her shrill screams from that night at the Manor were forever etched in the deepest parts of Hermione's mind._

Draco Malfoy bore the marks of a warrior but these were the only battle scars he would never flaunt in all their glory. 

Hermione didn’t know what to do. 

She had nothing to say.

Her mind couldn’t come up with anything. 

But why on Earth was she compelled to say something? 

“Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Draco quipped, clearly annoyed with her unwavering stare.

“Draco…” She couldn’t tell what was more unnerving: the sadness she felt _for_ him or the fact that she felt for him _at all._ Did she just call him Draco? 

His nostrils flared at her change in tone. “I don’t need your pity, Granger.” Her name sounded like acid on his tongue, scorching and bitter. 

It was all too much. Draco was the informant. Draco Malfoy, infamous pureblooded bigot. He was the one constantly keeping the Order up to date on upcoming raids and seizable forts. He was the patron who’d anonymously donated hundreds of thousands of galleons to the cause. The note that accompanied each lump sum mentioned something about striving towards a ‘noble future.’ 

No.

Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. A stone-cold killer bred for chaos and destruction. A creature who knew nothing but pain, suffering, control, and power. A monster who feasted on the anguish of all who dared stand in his path towards total ruin. 

But if that were true, he really was a traitor. 

Draco Malfoy was the reason the Order was alive and well. 

He was the reason they hadn’t given up.

Or at least he was one of them. 

Hermione finally regained the capacity to speak. Her wand arm hung limply at her side. It seemed as though her subconscious finally relaxed the moment her mind took in his scar, not when she disarmed him. “Are you… are you alright?” 

The question made his eyes narrow and brows wrinkle. Trepidation. What was she playing at? 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Although his tone stayed cold, there was no malice in his voice this time. Curiosity, maybe? Perplexity? He studied her with a flame that could out-burn a million suns. It was at this point she noticed how different he looked. If it wasn’t for his signature blonde locks and aura that exuded arrogance, he could be mistaken for a different person. 

Had it been one year since she’d last seen him? Time was a mundane concept that only mortals feared. 

The hollows of his cheeks were ever-present but his bone structure had become much more pronounced. In fact, his whole stature had developed in mass. Hermione would go as far as to say his muscle mass doubled over the course of a year. Gone was the slender pre-pubescent boy who wreaked havoc during their early Hogwarts years. His height was no exception. Draco had always been a few centimeters taller than her, but now he was at minimum a full head and a half above her. Did emerging adults have growth spurts? The person that stood before her was a man. An insurmountably large prat, of course, but a man nonetheless. 

“I just meant if you...” she faltered. “Have you experienced any side effects from the—” 

He rolled his eyes. Like godfather like godson. 

“As much as I’d love to play catch up, I don’t enjoy having my time wasted with idle gossip.” The words sounded like a rumble, distinctly low and agitated. “Valuable information is up for grabs. Ask me what I want, Granger." The signature lopsided Malfoy grin he suddenly wore made Hermione's skin crawl. Not because it was genuine or attractive. No, because it was anything _but_. 

Dumbledore failed to mention that bargaining was a part of the deal. Clenching her jaw, she took a deep breath before parting her lips. Her focus didn't drift for a single moment. She had to remind herself it was for the Order. 

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Resentment bubbled from inside her stomach and it was a wisp away from imploding. How did he manage to get under her skin with the utmost of ease? He didn’t have to try and she could already feel steam coming out of her ears. 

The edge of his lip curled higher and his eyes relaxed, a film of arrogance glossing over them like a haze. "Nothing." His whole demeanor seemed to shift in tandem with his softening brows. Drunk. Drunk on power. Drunk on the dominance he had over her and the situation. "You have absolutely nothing you can offer me." 

Hermione's anger flooded through her in a rush that painted her cheeks. Red was a beautifully grim color. She wore it well. Raising her wand, she aimed it at the man standing opposite her. Whatever ounce of patience she had left was gone now. She prayed to whatever god might have been listening that she wouldn't set a spark to the flame of blind fury. "You, complete, narcissistic, cowardly sack of a magical being. I didn't come all this way for you to waste my time on your worthless—" 

In the blink of an eye, Draco apparated from the other side of the woods to directly in front of her. He stood tall and towered over the fuming Gryffindor as her back was pressed against the tree. Her wand piqued instantly and came in direct contact with his chest. His face was centimeters away from hers and he could see her pulse thrumming beneath the crook of her neck. She could make out the undertones of his aftershave; fresh, woody, and crisp, like an aphrodisiac. There was an air of familiarity to it. Beneath it, however, was something distinctly metallic and bitter. He caught the top notes of her perfume; faintly floral, delicate, and powdery. Underneath was something uniquely Hermione. 

He wasn’t armed but there wasn’t an inkling of a doubt when it came to how strong he was in physicality. She’d be a fool with a death sentence to question him otherwise. Draco's free hand shot up to wrap tightly around Hermione's, gripping her fingers and wand like a vice. She gasped sharply. He pressed the end of the vine wood against his Adam's apple and forced her to dig it into his skin. The magic thrummed against his flesh like the fluttering of a caged hummingbird, desperate to get out. A trapped creature that was begging for mercy. For release. 

Loosening her grip on the wand, Draco took the opportunity to close the distance between them but kept the wand glued to his neck. He brought his face closer to her jugular and she allowed the tip of his nose brushed her pulse point. She couldn’t muster the courage to move. For whatever reason, she didn’t feel fear. Perhaps her body had crossed the threshold of fight or flight and settled on freeze. With an inhale, what followed next was fear in its rawest form.

“I can _smell_ them on you.” There was nothing human about the way he spoke. A carnal growl laced with fervor and desire. Animalistic, guttural, and dripping with ache. It reverberated in her ear like a distant call. 

Morgana have mercy on her soul. 

“Draco, you’re not in control,” Hermione urged, cursing herself for allowing her voice to tremble. She still couldn’t distinguish whether he was fully infected or whether it was an aftereffect of the attack. Uncontrollable rage was a known side effect, coupled with a craving for raw meat, preference for cooler temperatures, increased body temperature, and enhanced olfactory senses. The manifested traits weren’t as extreme in someone afflicted with full lycanthropy, but they were hard to ignore. 

Whatever the cause, the dumbest thing she could do right now was to react out of instinct. No sudden movements. She’d cast a spell if deemed necessary but something held her back. 

"Ask me again, Granger." Each word came out in a low growl; precise, deliberate, and deadly. Staring into his eyes, the swirling rings of pewter were nothing compared to his obsidian pupils. They were the size of marbles and reflected just as much. 

Her eyes snuck a glance at his lips for a heartbeat and noticed his smirk was gone. It was replaced with a tight-lipped snarl and something else she couldn't make out. 

"What do you want?" The question was softer than before and posed in more of a statement. For once in her lifetime, she neither cared nor wanted to know the answer to this query. 

His hands squeezed hers even tighter, making her wince. He dug the point of her wand deeper into his neck. Almost as if he wanted, _needed_ , to punish himself. Any harder and he'd break skin. Realizing this, Hermione's eyes widened. 

The muscles in his neck contracted as he swallowed. 

_Insatiable._

The word echoed in her head as if it were a cursed melody. 

"Ask me. What I _need._ " The last word was drawn out anguish and sealed the command. His shoulders moved in tandem with his ragged breathing. The man in front of her wasn't a man at all. He was just a child. A sad, lonely, and broken child who was forced to fight a battle that he probably wouldn’t make it out of alive. A piece of her heart cracked. The gravity of the situation finally took hold and the weight of reality crashed in waves around her. The once fierce gaze that could burn kingdoms now stared into hers, cold and distant. 

_Damaged._

Her breathing staggered. 

"What do you need?" Hermione's voice was no louder than a whisper, gentle enough to disturb not even a slumbering bird. Nevertheless, the indignation persisted. 

Draco's hand relaxed, causing her wand to slip and land on the bed of leaves beneath their feet. Hermione hadn’t even noticed that he was the one holding the wand in place. With his hold gone, the only thing separating them was a thin wall of animosity and rapidly fading self-control. The weight left him in the form of a slow exhale. He could breathe now. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, clarity washed over him in a wave of cool. His gaze never vacated hers. The blaze that flickered from within them was absolutely smoldering. More color washed over Hermione's cheeks but this time, the trigger was entirely different. 

His breath fanned across her face with the heat of a hearth. Firewhisky and honey. And more of that bitter, metallic scent she detected earlier. Why couldn’t she put her finger on it? Think, Hermione, think. 

Before she could continue her train of thought, she was met with the new scent of Draco’s hair. 

In the span of seconds, his head ducked down to her injured shoulder.

Shite.

The last time Hermione had this many conflicting thoughts running amuck was the night before her N.E.W.T.s. Truth be told, she’d rather take her exams all over again than work with the hand she was dealt with. 

She could practically taste the perennials that emanated from the back of his head. Rosemary, tea tree, mint, lavender, and a hint of rose water. Who knew Draco Malfoy favored pharmacognosy? She hated to admit it but the scent was delightful. 

The air around her shoulder flashed cold for a second before heat spread over the open gash. An inhale and an exhale. Draco let out a throaty noise, a sound in between a hum and snarl. Pulling back the shredded fabric with his fingers, the tender gesture caught her by surprise. 

Her body seized up when the unmistakable pressure of something hot ran over the wound. 

Hermione choked back a moan. 

A dark vibration resonated from his chest and whatever barrier of self-control left was shattered. 

Draco's tongue swiped over her exposed shoulder once more, molten lava caressing her flesh. Her pulse raced faster than she thought humanly possible and blood rushed through her ears so quickly, she barely heard Draco whimper.

Guided by a primal compulsion, he cupped his mouth over the area and swirled the muscle over the wound, giving her shoulder a light suck before moving on. A pleasant burn, if you could even call it that, started to tingle where her shoulder was mauled— _came into contact with_ —Malfoy’s tongue. The throbbing dwindled until it was nothing but a numb ache. 

Draco continued laving his tongue over the bloodied injury and followed the trail upwards. The warmth of a pair of lips flared like hot coals. All roads lead to the heart. In this case, it was the jugular. 

Each path his fingertips traced along her supple skin was accompanied by a trail of goosebumps. When his touch settled on her chin, he tipped it so that she was staring directly into his gunmetal eyes. She stopped breathing. 

Hermione couldn’t move. 

Predator and prey. 

Standing up straight, her eyes landed immediately on the crimson that tinted his lips. If the moonlight were any dimmer, the liquid would have appeared as black as an abyss. Draco’s mouth was parted ever so slightly and Hermione saw the tinge of pink that painted his teeth. His tongue darted out to catch a stray drop that pooled at the edge of his lip.

Feral.

Blood.

 _Her_ blood.

How could a scrape produce that much blood?

"Malfoy, what do you need?" More agitation on her end to add fuel to the fire.

It might have been a mistake.

Draco gravitated closer. If his stare was intense before, it was liquid hellfire now. The metallic scent she noted earlier grew exponentially. When her left hand rose up to reach into her pocket, he caught the movement before she could register it. Almost instantaneously, both of her wrists were in the secure shackles of Draco Malfoy’s hands. Her wrist seemed no bigger than a toothpick when compared to his grasp. Throughout this ordeal, neither of their eyes had separated from each other's. 

It was a silent game of dominance and submission. Who would crumble first and who would be fast enough to collect the fallen pieces. The power dynamic was stronger than any kind of magic because it wasn’t potions, spellwork, or magic at all. It was pure nature. 

Hermione’s feet shuffled unconsciously and Draco growled. She pressed herself into the jagged bark of the tree. Theoretically, both of her hands were raised in surrender. But her fight was far from over. 

Despite deeming it impossible, Draco leaned in further. The barrier that separated them was reduced to a pathetic few millimeters. She could feel the words against her lips as they left his. They weren’t kissing but why did this feel so much more intimate?

The next thing that came out of his mouth was one that would haunt her for the rest of her days. 

"You." 

It was nothing more than a murmur and nothing less than a declaration.

Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets. 

He kept her wrists pinned against the tree and drew back the slightest bit. Not enough for comfort but enough to allow her to let out a hesitant gasp. If he hadn’t wrapped his hands all the way around her wrists, the rough tree bark would definitely have created new wounds for her to mend. Fortunately, his knuckles shielded her from that pain. Instead, a different sensation took control of her senses. 

The dead of winter did no service to the sweltering temperature that nearly encapsulated her. 

His body heat was positively torturous.

Draco allowed his thumbs to caress the veins that adorned her bare wrists. If he stayed still, he would feel the beating of her pulse and blood as it coursed through her veins. The hoarseness from his voice began to fade and was replaced with a sultry shade of seduction. 

“So tell me,” he coaxed. Any rougher and he was probably better off purring. “How has the Golden Girl spent her free time since being legally declared dead?” 

Finally, it hits her.

_Deep violet blooms, varied color range._

_Ten oblong petals, depending on species._

_Poisonous roots and flowers._

_Palmated leaves with thin green stems._

Aconitum _._

That same metallic fragrance nipped at her nostrils once more and was stronger than ever. 

A deadly concoction of her ripe blood and wolfsbane. 

* * *

_Tanacetum vulgare: I declare war against you._

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Initially, I wanted to write a one-shot just so I could get the writing nerves out of my system. 
> 
> I may or may not have an 18-page document of word salad that contains a roughly outlined plot, a timeline with events, flashbacks, favorite quotes, and lore. 
> 
> I'm not sure whether or not I'll write another chapter or leave it as a one-shot because I have commitment issues (university, work, boredom, writer's block, etc.) but who knows
> 
> kudos, comments, and feedback are greatly appreciated and equivalent to cups of coffee in my heart ^^


End file.
